


little ways to show you care

by kaiju



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Background Character Death, Blood and Violence, Dark Magic, Gang Rape, Light Angst, M/M, Past Torture, Possessive Grindelwald, Vomiting, Warning: This is really fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 04:19:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9218603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaiju/pseuds/kaiju
Summary: My dearest Graves,I apologize for the behaviour exhibited by the five wizards in the abandoned warehouse a few nights ago. They were acting out of their own wills and I do hope that you are clever enough to know that I had no part in their plans. I did, however, have to remind them who you belonged to. You need not worry about them anymore.P.S. Open the door. I’ve prepared a gift for you.Sincerely, Gellert Grindelwald.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [little ways to show you care 細處顯關心](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9570617) by [jls20011425](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jls20011425/pseuds/jls20011425)



> For the Fantastic Beasts Kinkmeme prompt:
> 
> Grindelwald decides to take over America. In the process, some of his followers decide to take it upon themselves to gang rape Graves. When Grindelwald finds out, he sends Graves their heads as a gift.
> 
> *
> 
> Yet another darkfic from me. I'm so sorry Percy.
> 
> I swear one day I'll write something even remotely romantic for this pairing.
> 
> There were also quite a few other prompts similar to this one so I hope this fic satisfies them all.

Rot and decay fills his senses as he steps into the warehouse. The large doors crackle against the wet, cemented ground as they close on their own. Percival isn’t exactly sure what it was supposed to be before it was abandoned, but he guesses it was a distillery of some sort – mostly because the place was littered in wooden crates filled with half-broken glass bottles. Percival drags a finger along a wall and it comes off coated in mildew. Disgusted, he wipes it on his trousers.

After Grindelwald was discovered by Newt Scamander and MACUSA, he was imprisoned for a few hours at best. The dark wizard easily escaped and has since decided to take over America with his large band of fanatics. The warehouse is supposed to be where Grindelwald’s American followers convene to discuss their plans or to torture civilian wizards who know too much. Grindelwald himself has also been spotted here several times according to one of Percival’s most competent Aurors.

But by being here, Percival is defying direct orders.

Madam Picquery didn’t want any of her Aurors investigating the warehouse, especially not Graves. He had just been rescued from Grindelwald’s clutches – found in a state of torture and starvation. She suspended him from his duties for the time being, just until he heals both mentally and physically. But Percival couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand just sitting around, waiting for someone else to capture Grindelwald when he could be out there doing it himself.

He made sure to arrive when it was empty. He can’t afford to fight off any minions, not while he’s weak like this. The energy he’s saving – that’s reserved for Grindelwald.

Percival hears a scuffling sound and immediately turns toward it, swiftly pulling out his wand. _“Lumos!”_ He points the light in the direction of the sound and finds a rat scuttling away. Percival tries not to let it get to him. He presses a hand against his hammering heart, trying to slow it down. Remaining still, his heartbeat eventually calms down. Percival sighs in relief. 

He continues walking, further into the depths of the warehouse. Each step echoes on the wet concrete and Percival wonders where the water comes from. Just then, a drop of water hits him on the face and he looks up. The wooden panelling from the ceiling had deteriorated so much that it was falling apart. He trails his eyes along a stream of moonlight that falls through the opening to find what looks like a steel table.

Upon closer inspection, Percival discovers that the table is actually a wide conveyor belt. Newspapers, magical ones, scatter the surface. There are pages and pages torn from the British Daily Prophet and some from The New York Ghost. Predictably, they’re all articles about Grindelwald.

Suddenly, he hears the same scuffling sound from before. He positions himself into a duelling stance, wand at the ready.

“Who’s there?” He bellows, sternly.

Percival is answered by silence. Nothing but droplets of water can be heard but he knows that something or some _one_ is there. His heart pounds in his ears. The air tastes staler and the light from the moon dims. Panic and anxiety settles into his mind, slightly blurring his vision as his eyes jump rapidly from one place to another.

“Show yourselves!” Percival shouts louder.

From the corner of his eye he spots a small blue light that bursts into a bolt of lightning, striking him straight in the stomach. Percival screams and doubles over, knees hitting the concrete. His wand falls out of his hand, clacking and then rolling on the ground. Squinting, he reaches forward, clutching his torso and stretching as far as he can but before he’s able to grab his wand another spell hits him. Percival groans in pain, sweat beading on his brow. His ears are surrounded by a high pitched ringing noise and his heart drops to the pit of his stomach. He’s in trouble.

 _“Incarcerous!”_ A raspy voice calls out from behind him.

In the blink of an eye, Percival is bound and gagged by thin ropes. They’re tight around his chest, binding his hands behind his back and they’re twisted around his jaw, in between his teeth. He thrashes pathetically, resembling a dying fish out of water. Every so often he stops to catch his breath, air struggling to flow in and out of his nose and mouth, his chest expanding to accommodate the small bits of oxygen he’s able to inhale.

Eventually, he stops struggling – not because he wants to but because he no longer has the energy to. He lies on his side and tilts his head upwards, trying to make sense of what’s happening. Five men, dressed in long black cloaks and armed with their wands, step from the shadows. Percival can see their toothy smiles, even in the darkness. One steps forward, the leader, perhaps, and walks straight towards him.

“Isn’t this Percival Graves? MACUSA’s poster boy?” The wizard asks, half-laughing. He has a thick Brooklyn accent that makes him sound malicious. He lifts his foot and Percival watches as he steps on Percival’s face, grinding his head into the concrete. He practically smears the dirt and grime onto Percival’s skin. His boot smells of the very same mildew that Percival wiped onto his trousers. He gags.

“What’s he doing out of Lord Grindelwald’s cage?” Another wizard jeers as he crouches down and pokes Percival’s face with his wand.

They all laugh and joke amongst themselves like hyenas, ready to pounce on their trapped prey. The first wizard finally lifts his foot off of Percival’s face, but then he kicks his head and Percival sees stars. Instinctively, Percival bites down on the rope. He bites down so hard that his jawbone throbs and he has to blink a few times before he can see properly again.

What do they want? He was so sure that the building was empty before he stepped inside. They’re definitely Grindelwald’s followers, their behavior and those newspaper articles tell it all. The panic really starts to kick in and Percival struggles against the bindings again. If he were at full power, he could easily break the ropes and fight off these men. He curses his own tenacity. If he had just listened to Picquery, just obeyed her orders, he wouldn’t be here right now.

“What should we do with ‘im?” One of them quips. He’s short and sturdy, face mangled by a multitude of scars. Percival can’t tear his eyes away from it. “I wonder how he got out?”

Percival shouts around the gag when one of them undoes his belt buckle.

“This guy’s exactly what’s wrong with the American wizarding community! He protects No-Majs from wizards like us. He goes against his own kind! I say we have our way with him. Teach him a lesson,” the one unbuckling his belt says. “It’s what Lord Grindelwald would want.” He proceeds to tug Percival’s trousers down until they rest above his knees. They all seem to agree as murmurs of approval sound in the room. Percival, wide-eyed and scared out of his mind, tosses and turns, not caring whether or not it would earn him a few more kicks to the face.

“Stay… still!” The leader tries to subdue Percival by force, but then pulls out his wand. _“Imper-”_ Before he can cast the Imperius Curse, another one stops him by blasting the wand out of his grip.

“Don’t. That would be too easy,” the wizard purrs, pocketing his own wand. “This guy’s nothin’ but a scummy bureaucrat. He’ll break five minutes into this. Just watch.”

The same man steps around Percival and scoops him up. Percival buckles and tenses, constantly shaking his head, the rope burning the corners of his lips and the skin of his cheeks. His thick eyebrows arch downwards, expression twisted in fear. The sweat forming on his face sticks the loose strands of hair onto his forehead. He’s dropped onto the steel conveyer belt, on top of the newspapers which are now wet and covered in dirt. Percival feels sticky, the ink from the papers adhering to his bare legs.

Grindelwald’s followers surround him. They start taking off their cloaks and then one of them roughly unbuttons Percival’s waistcoat and dress shirt. He closes his eyes and tries his best to breathe properly around rope. He can feel his stomach, swollen and hot and probably bruised purple. The kick to the head catches up to him now, head throbbing and jaw aching. He’s too exhausted to fully listen in on their insults and conversations. 

“Look at ‘im squirm like a little bug.”

They watch as Percival writhes on the table when their leader inches his fingers towards Percival’s hole. The man traces the tight ring of muscles with his index finger before plunging in dry. Percival lets out a muffled scream. Another one of them grabs a hold of Percival’s cock and begins tugging, rubbing his thumb over the head as he fists him. He can see the other three unzip their pants and then they shove their erections into his face. Precome leaks onto his skin, mixing with his sweat and the dirt from the shoe. One of them has the audacity to stroke his hair while they jerk off on his face and Percival wills himself not to throw up.

“He’s actually pretty like this,” one of the wizards pants. “You shouldn’t be holed up in an office all day, sweetheart. You should be out here doing what you do best.” They all laugh at that. Percival’s eyes are half-lidded in shame. He tries, again, to wriggle out of the bindings and fails, too weak and injured. They laugh again.

“I told you he’d break in five minutes.”

Another dry finger is added and Percival arches his back, shouting. The man struggles at the lack of ease and swears. He pulls his fingers out and spits onto them before pushing them back inside. With a hum of approval, the man begins assaulting Percival’s hole, thrusting deep and hard with his thick, calloused fingers. In and out, in and out. Percival trembles violently, his senses overstimulated by each and every one of the dark wizards. 

_What have I done to deserve this?_ Percival asks no one in particular. He focuses his attention on a loose board of wood on the ceiling.

Suddenly, the rope from his mouth falls loose but before he can shout, it’s replaced by a thick cock. The back of his head is gripped tightly and his head is turned and rocked forward and backward and forward again to match the man’s thrusts. Fingers dig so deeply into his skin that they leave white imprints. Percival’s hair falls all over the place, hitting his face as he’s aggressively thrust into.

He almost forgets about the wizard who’s tugging his cock, but he makes Percival come when the man in his mouth comes. His own release spills onto his chest and stains bits of his shirt while the man’s come fills his mouth. Percival chokes. Before he can reorient himself, another cock is shoved into his mouth, its taste mixing with the come. This one is thinner, but longer and it hurts more when he’s thrust into by this man.

They don’t stop laughing and joking above him. He vaguely hears something about how he deserves this for betraying his own kind, something about how the others would enjoy this, and something about how Grindelwald would be _so_ proud of them. It makes him sick.

Percival screams around the cock when something much bigger than two fingers pushes inside of his ass. He chokes again, come spluttering out of his mouth and he involuntarily lets out a guttural groan. “Fuck, he’s tight,” the man says as he rips into Percival, spit and precome acting as the only lubrication. It becomes so unbearably painful and so agonizingly shameful that Percival faints.

He slips in and out of consciousness. He hears the others argue about who’s doing what and who’s going next. He keeps his expression blank, but winces and makes small sounds of pain from time to time.

He’s only half-conscious as each of them take their turns with both ends of his body. They no longer toy with his penis and instead tend to their own needs. They grab and pinch at his body, thrust and split him in two. He can barely hear anything, barely see anything, but he can feel every drop of hot liquid that flows down his inner thighs and he knows he’s bleeding. They enjoy it even more once they notice. They make him accept and swallow everything they fill him with. 

At one point, Percival just lays still, disconnected and defeated. He thinks about Tina, Tina who didn’t deserve to be demoted. And then his thoughts drift to Credence, the poor boy. He didn’t deserve Grindelwald’s abuse. Percival loses himself within his mind.

Several hours pass before they’re done with him. He’s covered in all kinds of fluids – come, blood, and even water from the leaking roof. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even twitch or squirm like before. The men clean themselves up, tucking away their overused cocks, and throwing on their robes. They undo the ropes binding Percival’s body. They figure it won’t make a difference now that they got what they wanted out of him.

“I could’ve gone on longer, but you guys seemed like you were tired,” one of the wizards joke.

“What do we do with him now?”

They exchange looks amongst each other. “Well it’s not like he can do anything lookin’ like that,” one of them smirks, pointing at Percival with his thumb. “Just leave him here. We’re the only ones who know about this place anyways.”

“Thanks for the fun, _Director,_ ” their leader says patronizingly while patting Percival’s cheek. “I hope we see each other soon.”

“Gnarlak’s bar, anyone?” Another wizard asks playfully on their way out of the building. The group whoops and hollers in agreement, leaving Percival alone in the warehouse.

Percival’s entire body aches and his head screams in pain. He gingerly picks himself up after laying still for a long time. The first thing he does is throw up, expelling any and all fluids from his body. His fingers taste salty but they’re nothing compared to the foul taste of semen and bile pouring out of his throat. 

Using the less dirty newspapers, he wipes himself clean starting from his legs to his chest. He positions himself under the dripping water and uses it to clean his face. Buttoning his shirt and waistcoat prove to be the hardest as his hands don’t stop shaking. It takes him a while but he gets it eventually. He pulls one sleeve of his long coat on at a time, clutching his injured stomach as he does so. Percival doesn’t even bother with his hair.

He finds his wand next to an empty wooden crate and he dusts it off nonchalantly. Percival tries to _disapparate,_ both without his wand and with it, but it doesn’t work – his mind unable to focus on anything but the pain in his body. He gives up, knowing full well that he’ll only hurt himself if tries to do it in this state.

Outside, it’s dawn and the frigid air makes everything in his body hurt twice as much. Shivering, Percival tightens his coat and gingerly limps down an alleyway, knees buckling and nearly collapsing along the way.

Walking home shouldn’t be this painful.

—

It’s been a couple of days since the incident. Percival takes it upon himself to actually obey the President’s orders to stay home and recover. He uses the last of his energy to heal his most serious wounds and leaves the rest to No-Maj treatment. Every morning, he finds fresh bruises, purple and black, some in areas he doesn’t even remember being touched in. They annoy him to no end.

He catches himself staring into the mirror regularly. His eyes are flat and empty, the sockets around them dark and hollow, like a corpse.

Tina tries to visit him a couple of times, just to check in on him and see how he’s doing. But he always dismisses her, tells her to focus on her job instead. Percival doesn’t mean to sound so harsh when he does this but he knows she won’t take it to heart. He almost refuses to answer the door now.

The sun is setting when a letter slips through the door mail slot, sailing his way. It opens itself up and lands gently in Percival’s hands. The letter reads:

_My dearest Graves,_

_I apologize for the behaviour exhibited by the five wizards in the abandoned warehouse a few nights ago. They were acting out of their own wills and I do hope that you are clever enough to know that I had no part in their plans. I did, however, have to remind them who you belonged to. You need not worry about them anymore._

_P.S. Open the door. I’ve prepared a gift for you._

_Sincerely, Gellert Grindelwald._

Percival shudders. He can practically hear Grindelwald’s voice in the words. But the dark wizard was right. Percival knew that Grindelwald would never stoop that low. He would never break Percival that way – it would be far too easy and ineloquent. The man mostly committed mind torture, dissecting each and every one of Percival’s most private memories and then making him relive his most painful ones.

Coincidentally, those moments of torture are the ones that Percival remembers the most.

Hesitantly, Percival gets up from his couch and walks to his door. He’s still limping, but not as severely as before. Shaking. Why is he shaking? He knows by now that Grindelwald’s word is Grindelwald’s word. He just can’t shake the fear off that easily. 

The door opens silently and red is the first thing Percival sees. Blood coats his front step in neat little puddles under the five severed heads. Percival steps back, nearly tripping over the welcoming rug. His eyes land on the most familiar face – the one malformed with a thousand scars. He notices now that the head is bald, and that his scalp is also covered in disfigurements. Some of them have their mouths wide open, blood congealed around their teeth and gums. Others have their eyes closed, tears perpetually frozen in the corners of their eyes.

In a sick way, Percival is relieved. A weight is lifted off his shoulders as he stares at each of the heads and he thanks Grindelwald for this. For freeing Percival from this nightmare. He collapses onto his knees, body wracked in heavy breaths and grateful sobs. The letter crumples in his shaking hands.

Somewhere in the dark streets of New York, Grindelwald smiles.


End file.
